The Healing Process
by Veronique Roux
Summary: Takes place around 5x03-5x04. There's a reason that the Winchesters always pick up when someone calls. Dean chooses to ignore it. Hurt!Sam, Guilty!Dean, with a bit of BAMF!Cas. Rated T to be safe.


hola, mishamigos

So, I figured I might as well post something (or at least start working on it) in honor of the day...November 2nd, both el Dia de los Muertos and the day that Mary Winchester died. Maybe we should make an ofrenda for her. Or something.

But anyway, because setting up altars is hard work and I'm lazy, I decided to write something instead. I considered posting something about Sam and Dean being happy because that's what she'd have wanted...but fuck that. Have some angst, some guilt, and copious amounts of pain. Enjoy.

* * *

Dean honestly found it really irritating that when the phone rang, it didn't just make that heinously loud noise. It had to vibrate too, and make that horrible buzzing sound while it writhed on the bedside table. If it were an alarm, he'd probably just hit it until it shut up. But he couldn't afford to break his phone again, so all he did was press a pillow over his face and groan.

"Are you going to answer it?"

He usually found Castiel's voice calming. Right then, it was more like an electric drill moving through this temples.

"Nope," he replied shortly, turning away from the angel.

"It's Sam."

"So?"

"He may be in trouble."

"Then he can deal."

Castiel pressed his lips together. The phone went silent, and Dean gave a relieved sigh, only to find that a moment later it was replaced by the same sound once again.

"Cas, would you get the hell out of here? I'm tryin' to sleep."

"Dean, it's Sam again. I really think he might be-"

"Cas!" Dean sat upright. "Sam can do what he wants. I don't care." He flopped back down, eyes sliding closed. Cas regarded him for a moment. He blinked. When he opened his eyes, he was in a parking lot, somewhere in the nearby United States. He'd never been good with specifics.

Maybe Dean was right. Maybe Sam was fine. He flipped open the cellular device. Maybe he was just getting worked up over noth-

_"C-cas?"_

His brow furrowed. "Sam?"

A pause. _"Are you with Dean?"_

"Why? Do you require assistance?"

_"I'm...I'm not sure. I think...I think I might be hurt. I think something might be wrong."_

"I will get Dean."

_"No-no-no, don't bother him, he-" _Sam coughed weakly. It was a frightening sound. _"He doesn't want to see me. If you could just t-take me to a hospital, or just fix me up, or anything-"_ He took a breath. _"I can't feel my legs. I don't know where I am. It's dark."_

"What town are you in?" There was a pause, for just a moment longer than Castiel liked. "Sam? You need to stay awake."

_"I'm not sure. I was staying at...Great Plains. It's a motel. In Oklahoma. Garber. I was at a bar. I don't...I think I was stabbed. There was a hunter. He was angry."_

He blinked. The parking lot disappeared.

The next few seconds were a blur for Sam, but clear as day for Cas. There was a warehouse. Blood. A gun went off. Cas turned his head for a moment to watch the bullet tear its way through the oxygen molecules. They were hunters, but they were still just humans, and within seconds, they were hardly more than empty shells.

Perhaps he shouldn't have killed them. Perhaps he'd acted rashly. But Sam was lying in a corner, _so much blood_, and for half a second, he couldn't think.

Half a second is all an angel needs.

All Sam heard was the gunshot. His vision was going, and his hearing was following quickly. He didn't have enough strength in his hand to put pressure on the gaping hole in his side. The blood flowed so freely that he could feel it, like a tangible force, against his side. A hand touched his forehead, and then he was gone.

* * *

The next time his eyes opened, all he could see was white. Then his eyes came into focus.

Well, he wasn't completely wrong about the white.

He stood in a room with walls so white, he almost would've thought he was in some sort of experimental medical facility.

At least, he might have thought that if the walls weren't dripping blood.

His head ached like hell, and the Devil grinned down at him with steely eyes.

"Sam, what did we talk about..." Lucifer paused, and idly picked some cartilage from underneath his fingernails. "You don't get to die, Sammy. You're not getting out that easily...although that doesn't mean I won't let you suffer."

"I'll never say yes." He had wanted it to come out as a valiant declaration, but his chest was aching and he could hardly breathe and it came out as more of a gasp.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." His smirk sent a shiver down Sam's spine.

* * *

Castiel appeared in Dean's hotel room three days after he first left, only to find an empty tequila bottle on the bed and a sleep-deprived Dean yelling at him.

He hadn't really realized he'd been gone for three days.

Dean was silenced with a look. Cas considered him for a moment before he began to speak, even more tonelessly than usual.

"I answered your brother, Dean. He called me a few nights ago."

"And?"

"And he was hurt, Dean. Severely. Several hunters abducted and tortured him. He is currently under hospital care."

It took Dean a few moments to process his words. "I- Why didn't you call me?! And why, for god's sake, is he in a hospital? That's dangerous, you should've healed him, you- Why the FUCK didn't you call me?"

"I do not currently have the power to heal him. I did my best; it was insufficient. He was adamant that I did not contact you. He did not wish to disturb you. I'm only here now because he was dying the last I saw him, and I didn't think you would want him to die without exchanging farewells. Perhaps I was wrong."

A heavy silence fell.

"I..." Dean's face hardened. "Take me to him."

* * *

A monotonous beep drilled into Dean's skull. Sam's skin was hardly darker than a sheet of paper. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. A young doctor stood next to him, a pair of defibrillator paddles in either of his hands. A steady, painfully flat line blipped its way across the screen, and a few nurses were wheeling the crash cart out of the room. Time of death had been called thirty seconds before Dean arrived.

"Is this the brother?" The question was addressed to Cas.

"Yes." The doctor seemed oddly accustomed to Castiel's awkwardness; he didn't take pause.

"Mr. Wesson, I'm Dr. Ferns. I promise you, we did _everything_ we could. He coded unexpectedly, and there was no one around. His injuries were incredibly severe when he came in. I-"

A muffled scream came from inside the ward. Dean and Dr. Ferns dashed inside; Cas, ever the subtle one, was already there.

_Beep...beep...beep..._

"What the hell?!"

Ferns rushed to Sam's side just as he started to choke on the breathing tube.

* * *

"Honestly, we can't explain it. Every now and then, medical miracles just _happen_, and we don't know why. He isn't quite out of the woods yet, I'm afraid. We'll know more if-" He coughed, trying to cover up his slip. "When he wakes up. Right now, he needs all the support he can get. I'll send someone to check on him every hour."

Dr. Ferns walked away. Dean slowly sank down into one of the hard plastic chairs that were placed around the bed. A fold-up cot was leaning against the foot of Sam's bed. Cas touched Sam's forehead for a moment. He frowned, and seemed to be about to speak, until he caught a glimpse of Dean's face.

"I will return shortly."

He disappeared.

Ever so hesitantly, Dean grabbed his brother's hand. He was cold, and a little clammy. He was far too pale, and his forehead was creasing as he fought through either a nightmare, or just pain in general.

But his heart was still beating. That's what mattered.

"I'm...I'm _so sorry_, Sammy. I'm so sorry." There wasn't much else to say.

Sam didn't wake up the way he would have done in some crappy movie. He squeezed his hand back, though. Just a little bit.

It was enough.

* * *

Sam was checked out of the hospital AMA a week later. Dean didn't want to take any risks, but they were starting to ask questions about insurance, and Sam insisted that he would be just fine.

He had a nasty scar just below his heart, a cast on his right leg, two healing fractures in his fingers, a black eyes, and a newly rebroken nose.

He also had his brother back.

And a few weeks later, when he had the cast off, Dean asked him, quite hesitantly, if he maybe wanted to drive?

He somehow smiled and frowned at the same time. "R...really?"

"Yeah, Sammy, go ahead." Dean tossed him the keys. "I guess I can trust you with her."

It's a healing process.

* * *

**So, this is very short, but I think I like it...we'll see. I have to wait a few days and reread it so that I can read it from the perspective of someone other than myself. Now, since I didn't put it in the beginning A/N, I'll say now that I don't own Supernatural, nor am I in any way affiliated with it. I just have an unhealthy obsession with the show, as well as with the cast.**

**A very unhealthy obsession.**

**So, I'm going to go screw around on tumblr for a little while...well, I say a little while, now let's look at where I am at midnight.**

**Au revoir.**


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